


Just Thinking

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-20
Updated: 1999-03-20
Packaged: 2018-11-10 22:23:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11135859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ben considers the many aspects of his life in Chicago.





	Just Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Just Thinking

This is the result of an attempt to write from Ben's  
POV, and just demonstrates that, for me, writing is like playing Dungeons  
and Dragons - nothing works out the way I've planned, and the Dungeon  
Master is certifiable. Or maybe I'm just really bad at Dungeons and Dragons  
:^)

Nik 

\----------------------- 

# Just Thinking

by Nicola Heiser 

On this day, like so many others, you go home. It's late, like it is so many nights, but today it's summer and the sun hasn't set yet. The inspector is still at the consulate; you wonder, as you have many times before, if you should ask her if she needs your help with anything. But you know from experience that once she tells you to go home, it's better if you obey. 

And anyway, Ray is waiting impatiently to give you a lift home in the Riv, in that car he values so much. He is talking to you, telling you about a case he's working on, telling you about a run-in with Lieutenant Welsh, perhaps, or Elaine. He's gesturing wildly as he speaks, and you worry when he takes his hands off the wheel to do it, but you know better than to say anything. 

Ray is in full flight now, relating anecdotes, perceived slights, grievances, but through it all, he's watching you. With the abrupt change in tack that surprises people, he asks you if you're all right. 

"Yes," you tell him, and "fine", and "thank you for asking". And you smile at him, a little distracted, and turn back to the window. 

He asks you again, because he doesn't believe you, but what are you going to tell him? So you assure him, "I'm fine, Ray," and ask him about a particular of the case he mentioned, to demonstrate just how fine you are. 

He doesn't believe you yet, but he's willing to let it go for now, because he knows it's not important yet. But as he turns his head to change lanes, you hear him mutter something, low-voiced, about the "damn Dragon Lady". You don't comment; you pretend you didn't hear. 

He's a good friend, one of your few friends, and over time, he's come to accept your need to keep some things inside, the way you've learned that he lives so much of his life on the outside. So when he drops you off at your building, he gives one of his exasperated, resigned laughs with his farewell, and tells you to say hi to Dief for him. 

The wolf is waiting for you; it's been a few hours since Willie last walked him, and he's restless, a little bored. You apologise to him, but remind him that it was his choice not to come to the consulate today. He gives you _that_ look, so you shrug and give him his food, fixing something for yourself. 

But Diefenbaker is restless, and you identify the same symptoms in yourself, so the two of you set out for a walk. You observe, as you start down the street, the differences between a sunset in Chicago and one in the north of Canada. It's an observation you've made many times, and the observation has long since lost the faint tone of complaint that you won't reveal to anyone but yourself, deep down. 

And you wonder if a sunset in Ottawa looks anything like this, if there's anything in the sunset here that is lacking, for her to miss. 

The people in the street smile at you. Some of them say hello and some of them stop to pat Dief. You smile back; you've long since come to like these people and it's a smile of liking rather than good manners. But even so, you're feeling restless and you're glad when Dief moves on, when you move out of the mess of buildings and into the expanse of the park, where you both can run. 

Here, at last, you can breathe. Not as deeply as you can amidst the snow and solitude of the north, but deeply enough, for now. It's enough to let the events of the day slowly settle into place in your mind, where you can try to make sense of them. 

Rising up through all of them, as it is wont to do these days, is the image of the inspector, of her pale skin against dark hair, the curve of her silhouetted for a moment against the late afternoon sun. You stop beside a tree for a moment as you see her in your mind's eye, and remember the touch of her, the feel of her in your arms. 

Diefenbaker opens his jaws, in that expression you're sure is meant to indicate laughter, amusement. You shake your head at him; "it's not what you're thinking," you tell him. "It's not." But he just shakes his head once and darts off into the darkness between the trees, a faint blur of white in the blackness, an even fainter howl. 

Once again, though you won't admit it, he has hit on the truth. You want her, as much as you've wanted anyone. But you know there's more to this than pure desire; you've met many women, particularly since your arrival here in Chicago, and they haven't affected you like this. 

And though you don't want to compare her with Victoria, you find that you're doing it anyway, and you're surprised to find that she's as different from Victoria as Ray is. Your need to help people sometimes annoys her, as it does Ray, but though they asked you to stop and told you to stop, they never forced you to, and you doubt that they expected you to, anyway. They stand by you, and when you think you've lost yourself in the millions of people who need your help, they reach out a hand to pull you out, or they close the door between you and the rest of the world for a moment. A decision you can never make. 

And no matter how irritated she got with the detective, she never framed him for fraud, never framed you for first degree murder, never shot your wolf. A silent voice deep within you, heavily ironic, points out that this is significant, a big thing. Equally silently, and maybe a little sadly, you laugh, but you don't want to think about that any more. Victoria is gone, and today you're wondering about a woman with the courage and drive and ability to rise up through the still male-dominated RCMP ranks to become chief liaison of the Chicago consulate. 

...thinking about the way she clears her throat and tosses back her head to focus on the task at hand, no matter how annoyed/hurt/worried/uncomfortable she is. 

...about the way she frowns to hide a non-regulation smile at something you've said or done. 

...about the way she surprised you, when you were struggling to explain why you didn't want to transfer out of Chicago, by saying it for you. 

...about the fact that she is one of the few commanding officers you've had, and you've had many, who will ask you why you will or won't do something, and actually listen for your answer. 

And you wonder why she is so defensive and so determined to pretend she doesn't have feelings when she has shown that the pretence hurts her. You know that part of it is Clouthier and his like, but there's more to it than that, and you wonder if you'll ever know what it is. You want to help her, but, as with Ray, as with your father, you find that it is the people you care for the most who are hardest to help. It bothers you that it should be that way, but it is. 

But now Diefenbaker is in front of you, looking up at you. His wolfish nature is calling; he wants you to run with him. You smile back at him and follow as he sets off, and you are tearing through the night. The exhilaration of the wind whipping at your face fills you, the chill of the night, the working of your muscles as your stride lengthens, and your only thought is of what a great relief it sometimes is, to feel instead of think. 

Nicola Heiser died on 24th October 1997, and is greatly missed by her friends and fans of her writing. 


End file.
